Many Happy Returns
by jamelia116
Summary: After the events of "Shockwave 2," a borrowed object is returned. Dedicated to pjinnh, List Mom of the MHExplosion, who encouraged me to write R/S stories. This story was written at the time Star Trek: Enterprise was on its initial run.


Many Happy Returns

By Jamelia

Author's notes: Spoilers: 2.01 "Shockwave 2." Hopefully, the Almighty Reset Button will not be pressed to wash out what allegedly happens in "that scene." If it is, consider this an AU. Hey, it's an AU anyway-so, never mind.

Paramount owns Star Trek: Enterprise and all of Trek. I don't, but I like to play around with the characters every now and then.

Dedication: to PJinNH, ListMom of the MHExplosion, for her past kindnesses and her fervent prayers for more R/S stories...

=/\=

When Malcolm's door swished open this time, Hoshi was fully dressed.

"Hi, Malcolm. May I come in?"

"Oh, certainly. Please do." Malcolm stepped back as he replied to Hoshi's predictable question, cursing himself for not asking her into his quarters before she had to ask. It would have been so much easier if he hadn't been visualizing the way she'd looked the last time she'd come to his doorway. The sheen of her golden skin as she stood before him, her arms modestly covering her bosom, was vividly etched into his memory. He doubted he'd ever be able to forget the expression she had on her face as she asked for his help.

After the door closed behind her, Malcolm said, "What can I do for you, Hoshi?" even though it was fairly apparent, from the folded object she was holding in her hands, what her errand must be.

"I'm returning your shirt. It's all washed and ironed and clean, and...and I want to thank you for letting me wear it, when I really needed one to...um, wear." She grimaced charmingly as she stumbled over her meandering sentence.

"That's quite all right. A friend in need, and all that." He winced at the banality of his response, confused by the way his heart was fluttering so nervously. This was Hoshi, for heaven's sake! She was his friend. "You can keep it if you wish. I have others." That's almost as deathless a comment as 'a friend in need, and all that' he thought, stifling an impulse to groan.

"Oh, that's all right. I have others, too. I just didn't have one available then!"

"Ah," was all he could say to that. He took the one step he needed to take to reach the drawer where he kept that type of shirt and slipped it inside, conscious every second of her eyes following his movements.

"Malcolm, are all of your drawers so perfectly organized? If you don't mind my asking."

"I like to keep everything in its proper place. It's an old habit."

"It's a good habit. I know the armory is always in ship-shape order."

"In an emergency, one wants always to be able to lay one's hands on what is needed without any delays," he agreed.

She stood rigidly erect in the middle of his room, looking a bit like she wanted to be anywhere else, or else felt unwelcome. He thumped himself mentally about his lack of manners. Waving his hand towards the chair before his desk, he said, "Please, sit down. Make yourself comfortable."

"Thank you," she said, breathing deeply before taking the proffered seat. "That's really what I came for." She stopped and shook her head. "I came to say thank you, I mean. Not to be made comfortable!"

She placed her hand over her mouth and cleared her throat before continuing, "And not just for the shirt, either-thanking you for the shirt, I mean. You've spent so much of your off-duty time working with me on my phase-pistol shooting skills and helping me get them up to where they should be, I really want to thank you for that, too. I never thought I'd ever reach a 'sharpshooter' rating!"

"That's my job, Hoshi. And it's always a pleasure to teach such a willing and able pupil."

"Being a 'willing pupil' goes hand-in-hand with being a teacher, I suppose. If there's one thing a teacher loves, it's learning new things. It's why someone becomes a teacher in the first place! And whether it's your job or not, I'm still very grateful. So, I'd like to give you a little token of my appreciation."

She fumbled with the zipper of one of her uniform pockets and pulled out a small package wrapped in plain white tissue paper and tied with a scrap of red ribbon. He accepted it quizzically but quickly ripped off the wrapping.

The object inside the package was about fifteen by twelve centimeters in size, a rather fat rectangle of stretched waffled cloth framed with strips of pewter gray metal. The navy blue cloth was worked with small cross-hatched threads in shades of green, gold, and brown, stitched to form a familiar image.

"It's a pineapple!" he said, twisting the small picture so that the satiny threads could pick up the light. "It's lovely-although I'm afraid I'll have trouble getting Chef to cook it up for me." He smiled quickly as he met her eyes, immediately wondering if his slight joke would be taken the wrong way. He was gratified to see her smiling happily at him.

"No, it wouldn't make up into much of a cake, would it? Actually, it's sort of a cross between a picture and a paper weight. The frame is magnetic, so you can slip paper notes underneath it and keep them in place if we have trouble with the inertial dampers or lose gravity or something. Or you could hang it up on a bulkhead as a decoration. You just have to make sure to put it up on steel or iron."

"Where did you find this? I don't recall seeing anything like it in ship's stores."

"Oh, I made it. I haven't done cross stitch in ages, but Cutler had some supplies she lent me, and I found the pattern in the ship's computer, believe it or not. Commander Tucker helped me make the frame."

He couldn't help being touched by the gesture. "It took a lot of effort to make this!"

"Not so much. It was fun to do. I'd forgotten how relaxing it could be. I may try my hand at a few more projects now that I've gotten a taste of stitching again."

Glancing at the small, neat stack of notes he kept on his desk, Malcolm leaned over Hoshi to fan out the slips of paper and position Hoshi's gift on top of them. It grabbed the steel edge of his desk firmly, pinning down the papers. "Thank you, Hoshi. Whenever there's ever a slight fluctuation in our gravity, these go flying all around my quarters. Next time it happens, I won't need to go chasing around after them, thanks to you! I take it you noticed my proclivity for keeping paper notes when you were here last?"

"I _did_ have quite some time here all by myself when you were out crunching the bad guys," she said with a grin. "So yes, I did notice. I was a little surprised. I always thought you'd be someone who would keep all your notes on PADDs."

"Oh, I do that, too; but although our technology has become extremely sophisticated, I still feel better having a back-up system to make sure I've some way to give my memory a jog when one is needed. Paradoxical, I suppose."

"I don't know. You're just being careful and thorough," Hoshi replied. "I understand that perfectly. I like to use a lockbox for my PADDs. It's a lot safer having little pieces of paper flying around if the ship's gravity fluctuates instead of having to dodge PADDs!"

They laughed together, but afterwards, when there was a lull in the conversation, Malcolm became acutely conscious of the proximity of her face to his, with his hands still resting on his desk and his head close to hers. He was clearly encroaching within Hoshi's personal space boundary, although she wasn't complaining. In fact, her space-dark eyes were sparkling brightly with good humour.

Not wanting to appear too forward, Malcolm stood erect. Then he worried he had just sent a message to her by moving away from her so quickly. Malcolm didn't want Hoshi to leave, but he had to say something or she might take his abruptness the wrong way.

Finally, he said, "I believe it must be due to your recent 'research project' that you knew I loved pineapple."

"How did you know about that? Did your sister tell you?"

"I heard from several people about the lengths to which you went to find out about my favourite flavour. Beyond the call of duty, I'd say. You were very thorough in your research."

"I always take my research seriously, sir," she said playfully, giving him a quick little salute. "Actually, the pineapple represents more than just your 'favourite flavour.' Did you know it's been a symbol of hospitality for centuries?"

"No, I can't say I did. Does it fit in this instance? I don't host too many large gatherings here in my quarters."

"Who says hospitality only means throwing big parties? Being kind to a crew member, especially to one who comes knocking on your door half-naked-a half-naked crew member, I mean, not a half-naked door!"

They laughed together again. "Helping crew members, whatever the state of their dress, is part of my duties, too, although I don't think anyone would think it politic to include a mention in the job specifications," he replied, smiling gallantly.

"Part of your job duties or not, I'm very grateful. I was wondering...is there anything I could do for you? I...um...would you be interested in some language lessons of some sort? I'd be happy to help you with any you might like to work on."

As she posed this question, the tip of her tongue appeared briefly, grazing the edge of her full lip whenever she came to a hesitation in her speech. It was very distracting. He almost missed the import of what she had asked him.

"Oh. I...I'm not sure. Can't think of any at the moment. Between you and the Universal Translator, I think we've got things fairly well covered."

"Oh," she replied in a soft voice. He thought she might be disappointed. Hoped it, perhaps?

"If I think of one, I'll be sure to tell you," he said.

Malcolm could envision Hoshi's lips pursing to form exotic words for him to copy, her tongue thrusting out complicated syllables, or even how her delicate fingers might position his mouth into the proper shape to make alien sounds. He wished he could think of an alien language he might benefit from learning, although he might miss her presence on away missions if he did. He berated himself for not being able to come up with an excuse to agree to her suggestion, to keep her in his quarters for a while longer.

"Well, Lieutenant, I don't want to bother you anymore. I'm sure you're very busy," she said.

"Oh, I'm not busy. And you're not bothering me," Malcolm said, although now that her errand had been accomplished, he was resigned to her leaving.

"Bye, Malcolm. Thanks again. See you on the bridge," she said with a wave of her hand as she walked out of his quarters.

"Yes, indeed. See you on the bridge." And in my dreams, he wanted to add, but didn't.

=/\=

"So, did he like it?" Liz Cutler was waiting for her in the corridor next to Hoshi's door.

"He seemed to," Hoshi replied.

"Are you sure? You seem a little depressed."

"Oh, I really think he did like it. He thanked me for making it. It's just...you can't imagine how jumpy and nervous I was! I can't believe it! Here I am, the ship's linguist, and I could barely get two words out of my mouth without stuttering or blushing! It was only Malcolm, for goodness sake!"

Liz Cutler shrugged her shoulders, trying to disguise her smile. Hoshi being nervous around 'only Malcolm.' Now there's a surprise! As if anyone couldn't guess why that might happen except for Hoshi-unless it was Malcolm. Cutler was willing to bet he'd stammered to beat the band, too. It was hard for anyone to miss how often the two would glance in the other's direction from across a room, or said the other's name in conversation, or became positively hyperactive whenever in the presence of the other in anything but a duty situation. Sometimes even then.

"I even offered him language lessons, too, like we talked about, but he doesn't want any. It's a shame, really. I feel like I owe him _something_ more for all he's done for me than simply giving him a little trinket."

"It was a _nice_ little trinket, though! Relax. Give him some time. He may come up with something."

=/\=

Malcolm sat at his desk, his chin resting upon his crossed arms, as he lightly touched his little pineapple of hospitality. He didn't deserve it; how very _inhospitable_ he'd been. He should have offered her a cool drink-or a hot drink-or _something_ to encourage her to stay a little longer.

The honey coloured threads reminded him of Hoshi's shoulders when she'd sought refuge in his cabin. Thinking of the way her skin looked made him think of the shirt she'd borrowed. He retrieved it from the drawer in which he'd placed it, fingering the cloth, imagining it caressing her back and shoulders. He sniffed the shirt, but the only thing it smelled like was a clean shirt, with only the barest whiff of the laundry products used to wash it still detectable.

If he'd have thought more clearly, he would have asked her not to wash it. He'd rather she returned it with the scent of her body lingering upon it or not at all.

'Malcolm, get a grip on yourself!' he admonished silently as he sat up. Grinning at his own foolishness, he shook the shirt out. Impulsively, he slipped his coverall down to his waist and stripped off the shirt he was wearing. Slipping on the one Hoshi had returned, he sat down upon his bunk and closed his eyes.

He imagining Hoshi sitting next to him in a matching shirt, the soft material resting as lightly upon her skin as it did his. Without thinking, he rubbed his hands over his belly beneath the shirt. In his mind, he felt Hoshi's fingers on his body, with his hands traveling up her spine and over the satiny skin of her back. He wondered whether her lips would taste as sweet as his favourite golden fruit if he kissed them.

Malcolm's eyes snapped open, and he snorted in amusement at where his fancies had taken him. Hoshi was hardly interested in him in that way. He really shouldn't think of her that way anyway. She was a junior officer, after all. There was something not quite right about it.

Of course, he mused, at least she _was_ an officer, not enlisted personnel. She wore the blue-green stripe of Sciences, not the red of Tactical. While they were both senior officers on the bridge, it wasn't as if she was really under him in the direct chain of command...

"Rubbish to even think about such silly stuff," he said aloud to himself. "But is it so terrible to want to spend a little time with a pretty woman like Hoshi?" He looked over at the little pineapple on his desk and couldn't shake the idea that she wouldn't mind spending a little time with him, either. He stood up and zipped up his coverall over the shirt he was wearing and thought a little more about what Hoshi had had to say to him during her visit.

An idea formed in his mind. He rubbed his hands over his hair as he thought about her offer to give him language lessons. There _was_ something she could teach him, although it wasn't exactly what she'd had in mind, he was rather sure. Since he'd turned her down flat, she might not be willing to now. But no, he didn't think she'd refuse him language lessons after she'd made the suggestion in the first place. He didn't think she would. Would she?

He took a deep breath. Hoshi had said it. She loved to teach, just as he loved creating a nice, deep, satifying boom. He'd have to risk it. After all, the worst thing that could happen was that she'd say "no."

Malcolm smoothed down his hair one more time. Faint heart never won, and all that...

"Lieutenant Reed to Ensign Sato..."

=/\=

Hoshi lay face down on her bunk. She could always do a little more needlework, she supposed. Maybe Dr. Phlox would like a sign: "Is there a doctor in the house?" perhaps. Or maybe one of those "The buck stops here" signs for the captain. Travis might like...

Her comm badge beeped. She jumped out of bed. "Ensign Sato here."

 _:::Ensign Sato?:::_ Malcolm's voice came over the channel. _:::I've been thinking about that offer you made, about the language lessons.:::_

"Really?" Her voice squeaked a little in surprise. "Do you want to learn Andorian? Or maybe Klingon?"

 _:::Actually, I had in mind a little of both. Do you recall when we were on the Klingon ship, and you read the labels of the control panels for me?:::_

"Of course, Lieutenant."

 _:::I was thinking it might be a good idea for me to know what some of them said myself. And there may be handy words and phrases in other languages I should learn, too. I'm only interested in a rather limited vocabulary of terms referencing tactical and weapons systems, of course. Do you think that would be something you could teach me?:::_

"Oh, I'm sure I could. You want a specialized glossary; how the words are pronounced and written, then. Like 'torpedoes' and 'explosion' and 'self-destruct,' perhaps? Terms like that?"

 _:::Exactly right. Would you be willing to set that up for me?:::_

"Of course! Let's meet tomorrow in the mess hall. We can put together a list of the ones you'd like me to work on for you first."

 _:::Excellent. Until tomorrow, then.:::_

Malcolm's mention of the Klingon ship lingered in Hoshi's mind long after the communications connection had been broken. While Hoshi sat at her desk, making a list of available languages to bring to their meeting tomorrow, her mind kept jumping back to all the times she'd sat next to Malcolm in the decontamination chamber, including the day they'd returned from the Klingon ship. He never wore a shirt in Decon. He always stripped off every stitch of clothing except for his briefs. He was in wonderful shape. She was always so totally aware of his firmly muscled shoulders and chest. She sighed deeply as she thought of Malcolm's flat stomach and rippling abdominals, of his brief-clad buttocks that brushed against hers if either of them made the slightest move.

Malcolm almost always sat next to Hoshi in Decon. Very close to Hoshi. Realizing this provoked a shiver of pleasure up and down her spine.

Hoshi paused in her research as a slow smile bloomed upon Hoshi's lips. After they'd assembled and mastered a nice long list of words for "things that go boom," maybe she could convince Malcolm to branch out a little and work on a different list of words. It would be such fun to help him work on his vocabulary. Malcolm's lips looked so soft and supple, like they could manage to pronounce almost any sound there was. Hoshi wondered if they might also, by chance, carry the taste of his favorite fruit.

Giving Malcolm language lessons promised to be a very rewarding experience. Very.

=/\=

End Note: The "English" spelling of words such as "flavour" is deliberate, to suggest Malcolm's British accent.


End file.
